


Sweet Dreams

by Kyne_7



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dream Sex, Dreams, F/M, Geralt Is A Cynic, Jaskier Falls In Love Too Fast, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22446277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyne_7/pseuds/Kyne_7
Summary: Jaskier is in love, pure and simple.It doesn't matter that the object of his affection lies only in his dreams; he's been dreaming about her every night, the most perfect creature imaginable. No one is going to sour his love; not Geralt, with his cryptic questions and general distrust of emotions, and not Yennefer, the conniving witch who claims not only that his angel might exist but she also might not be quite what she seems.Why can't everyone just let him dream in peace?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	1. Angelic

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely adore Jaskier in the new Netflix series, so here's a little love for him and a little water for anyone else who's thirsty.

_She hummed against his skin, candlelight dancing across her face and casting shadows on her lips when she pulled back to smile at him. She was gorgeous, flawless, situated in his lap as he sat with his back against the bed’s headboard. His hands drifted across her form, not wanting to commit to one spot in case he missed something amazing somewhere else. Her body was warm, pliant against his own; she welcomed his kisses, her hands cradling his face as she moved with him. He’d never felt anything like this before._

_“Jaskier,” she breathed, and he shivered with the way she said his name. She laughed softly when his fingertips brushed from the side of her breast to her spine. “That tickles.”_

_He dipped his head to kiss her deeply and she whispered his name again._

_“Keep saying it like that,” he encouraged, rocking his hips forward in earnest. “You’re so beautiful.”_

_“Jaskier.” Her lips curved in a smile; he could feel it, her breath on his ear as she leaned close. “Jaskier.”_

“Jaskier!”

The bard bolted upright, his red jacket undone and his hair mussed. He looked around frantically for a moment, his surroundings coming into focus—forest, smoldering fire, pissed off witcher. Right.

“Wake up,” growled aforementioned witcher. “It’s nearly midday.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, still taking stock of everything. Then, he exploded into a grin. “I think I’m in love.”

Geralt of Rivia grunted. “Again?”

“You say that like this happens every day!”

“Hmm,” Geralt said. “Hurry up.”

Jaskier groaned as he stood, his body sore from a poor sleeping position. “What, does the wyvern in Lindenvale have you on a time crunch? Unless it eats all the sheep before we get there, I’m sure we’ll make it in time.”

“Archgriffons don’t eat sheep.”

The witcher set off, leading his horse Roach by the reins where it was too thickly forested to ride her. Jaskier scrambled to follow. 

“Archgriffon? Not a wyvern then?” When Geralt didn't answer, he sighed. “Aren't you going to ask me about my new love?” 

“No.” 

“She’s ravishing, truly,” Jaskier went on dreamily. “Not your type, of course, you like them...deadly and unstable…” He pictured Yennefer, naked with strange sigils painted on her body while she chanted a spell to control a djinn, and shuddered. “Right, back to my love. Green eyes like the first leaves of spring, hair like warm honey kissing the tops of her porcelain shoulders—”

Geralt growled low in his throat, interrupting Jaskier’s description. “It’s been you, me, and Roach for four days out here, Jaskier.”

“That’s just it, Geralt, I’ve been _dreaming_ about her.” Jaskier sighed, his hand over his heart. “Three nights now, the same angel in my dreams—”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. “So you’ve finally lost it, dreaming about some night you bedded a tavern girl or seduced a woman at court away from her husband—”

Jaskier laughed again. “I’ve never met her before.”

Geralt stopped walking.

“She’s truly something ethereal, only in my dreams, my ideal woman.” Jaskier pictured her again. This most recent dream was the first time she’d said his name. He realized he didn’t have one for her. “Mira, perhaps? She looked a bit like a Mira...Vinette, or Arella…”

But Geralt was no longer paying him much attention. He looked vaguely concerned, and then his stone expression—that is to say, no expression at all—was back on his face and he grunted at the bard to keep moving. They were still four days from their destination. Jaskier rolled his eyes at his companion.

“You could at least pretend to be interested, Geralt. That’s what friends do.”

“We’re not friends.”

“Yeah, yeah, how many times have I heard _that_ line?”

* * *

_His angel kissed down his neck, the warmth of the fireplace meaning the blanket had been kicked to the floor, forgotten. His surroundings were clearer now, some kind of estate room. They were on a four-post bed, the mattress soft and plush; not far from the foot of the bed, a marble fireplace burned bright with two chairs in front of it. The walls were lined with books upon books, and—_

_“Jaskier,” his lady murmured, her breath warm against his stomach as her kisses trailed downwards. “Am I boring you?”_

_“What?” His eyes snapped to her. “Of course not, darling.”_

_Her tongue dipped across the lines of his abs and his voice caught in his throat. “Your attention is elsewhere.”_

_“I’m sorry.” Jaskier let his fingers tangle in the soft strands of her hair. “My focus is on you, as always.”_

_She quirked a smile at him and his heart skipped a beat. She began her journey anew, fingers brushing against the waistband of his pants._

_“My muse, my angel,” he murmured as she freed him from his breeches. His thumb brushed her jaw. “What’s your name?”_

_Her green eyes sparkled but she said nothing, and then she took him in her mouth and he grunted, hips bucking upwards._

_“How—” He groaned again as she sucked, her tongue circling his tip. “How will I sing your praises, milady, if I don’t know your name?”_

_She continued to ignore him, inching him closer and closer until he pulled her head back by her hair with a strangled cry._

_“Not yet,” he gasped when she tilted her head in confusion. His usual grasp of words eluded him, and all he could stammer out was, “Inside you.”_

_Her face flushed a gorgeous pink even as she smirked, straddling him, but he surged up, kissing her with a ferocity that surprised her. When she put her hands on his chest, trying to push him back down prone on the bed, he grasped her wrist, curled his other arm around her waist, and flipped them. Her hair spread around her head on the pillow like a golden halo. Jaskier, in a moment of tenderness, slid his hand from her wrist and interlaced their fingers. Her face softened, and he kissed her again._

_“Jask—oh!” She gasped when he entered her, and he reveled in the sound._

_He drank every moan, every shiver, every breathy whisper of his name. He almost forgot that he’d asked for hers and she brushed him off. He inhaled the scent of her hair, something sweet and vaguely floral, like gardenias. He groaned loudly again, dropping his head into her neck, sweat dampening his brow._

_“I’m close,” he muttered through a tight jaw, trying desperately to stave off the inevitable._

_She nodded, tightening around him and fingers squeezing his. “Elspeth,” she whispered._

_His hips stuttered and he pulled back to look at her face. “What?”_

_“My name.”_

_She looked...strangely vulnerable. Unsure, almost. He kissed her again, trying to reassure her._

_“Elspeth.” His lips curved in a smile of their own accord. “Beautiful name. Thank you.” He set back to the task at hand, a more gentle edge to his motions now. She came around him, their hands still entangled, and then he let his self-control slip away. He fell asleep with her head tucked against his shoulder._

* * *

“Wake up, Jaskier.”

Groggy, Jaskier shook the sleep from his eyes. It was still dark out, a fire burning, Geralt staring into the flames with his usual silent intensity _—_

“It’s...Geralt, it’s still night.” Jaskier yawned. “Why did you wake me, I was having such a pleasant dream _—_ ”

“Your dream girl, again?” Geralt wasn’t looking at him.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Jaskier didn’t bother to hide his smile, putting his hands behind his head. “Her name is even prettier than I could’ve hoped. _Elspeth_.” He stared up through the trees at the night sky above him. “I must find someone like her, Geralt, she’s absolutely stunning. I had to have known her from somewhere, maybe I did meet her at court, or in passing in some town _—_ but surely I’d remember meeting a beauty like her, don’t you think?”

Jaskier peeked over at his friend _—_ for they _were_ friends, regardless of the other man’s protestations _—_ and something was off. Geralt seemed to be contemplating something.

“What is it?” Jaskier asked. “Do you know something about her?”

Geralt grunted, which wasn’t much of an answer. “Go back to sleep, Jaskier.”

“What about you?” Jaskier glanced down at the sword, unsheathed and resting across Geralt’s lap.

“I’m fine.” The fire crackled. “Go...Go to sleep.” He adjusted the sword, metal clinking. “If the dream...If something changes, tell me.”

“Oh ho ho, suddenly he’s interested.” Jaskier smirked, rolling onto his side toward the witcher. “What was it, witcher? The name? Or did my description of her beauty finally hit home, hm?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Forget it.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Geralt?” Jaskier frowned, slightly worried _—_ after all, the witcher was more worldly than him, dealt with the magical and deadly on a daily basis for some years now. Was there a chance that his dreams weren’t _just_ dreams?

“No,” said Geralt after a long pause. “Everything’s fine.”

Jaskier rolled onto his back once more, huffing. If it was important, or if it were something dangerous, Geralt would tell him. After all, no matter how surly the other man was, he’d always protected Jaskier. Even after all that fuff with the djinn. Jaskier closed his eyes and hoped he’d dream of Elspeth again.


	2. Blind Adoration

_Jaskier trailed his fingers along her thigh. This dream was different than the others. The room was crystal clear_ — _he could even read the spines of some of the books on her shelves. His angel had a penchant for history, it seemed. Morning light streamed through large stained glass windows on the east wall, illuminating the cathedral ceiling in little rainbow shards. The pillows, which he had cast to the floor in their frenzied passion, were green velvet with silvery embroidery. She came from money, that much was clear. He wondered if she was perhaps nobility, or if she had a sponsor of some sort. He wondered if she had a husband, somewhere beyond the mahogany wood of her chamber doors. A fat husband, or aging, communicating with her only via servants; or maybe he was in another chateau entirely, unaware and uncaring of his wife’s actions._

 _The pattern on her skin stopped as his mind wandered and wondered. She looked up from her book, something in a language he didn’t understand but reasoned to be some kind of botany book from the almost scientific drawings of flowers_ — _she poked his cheek with a dainty finger._

_“Jaskier,” she said, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Where did you go, just now?”_

_“Nowhere, sweet.” He grasped her hand and kissed the top of it. “I’m right here.”_

_But she ignored him, saw through him, and rubbed between his brows gently with her thumb. “What has you worried? Don’t try to lie, I can see it.”_

_He sighed. His poker face used to be much better. “How does one afford such...luxury? That is, I_ — _”_

_She merely smiled. “It’s family money, not mine. Are you concerned that I married into it, my bard?”_

_“You didn’t, I can tell from your teasing,” said Jaskier, smiling and settling his arm around her, letting his lips rest on her hair. “But that means my other theory was correct. Have you been hiding your nobility from me, sweet? Should I be calling you princess instead of angel?”_

_“Nothing so grand, Jaskier.” Elspeth rolled her eyes and went back to her book. “Just a merchant father who had some fortunate dealings, that’s all.”_

_It was more than something so simple, he knew. He’d been in enough bedchambers to know the difference between the living arrangements of noblewomen versus merchants’ daughters. But if she wasn’t willing to divulge just yet, that was fine. He would wait._

_She closed the book, setting it on the table beside the bed. “Jaskier, won’t you sing for me? You must be working on something.”_

_He chuckled and said, “I could sing you ‘The Fishmonger’s Daughter’ if you like.”_

_Her nose wrinkled adorably. “I’d rather not. That’s a song for stag parties.”_

_“Hm, ‘The Last Rose of Cintra’?”_

_“A war song,” she said quietly. “Not the mood we want in our bed, Jaskier.”_

_“Oh, I’ve got just the thing.” He grinned, leaning close to her ear. “Toss a coin to your witcher,” he sang, nibbling at her earlobe._

_To his delight, she laughed. “I bet you sing that one all the time, at parties and taverns.”_

_“Well, it works surprisingly well. Especially at taverns.” He kissed her neck. “We’ve got to make coin somehow. Can’t all have fortunate merchant fathers. If that jaunty tune doesn’t do it for you, how about something else?”_

_“What’s he like?” she asked, a delicate hand pressed to his naked chest. “The witcher you travel around with?” Her voice was strangely haunting and musical now, a ringing quality to it as if she were speaking from somewhere far away. “The White Wolf born of Kaer Morhen.” There was a faraway look in her eyes when he pulled back to look at her face. Jaskier thought he could hear music, far in the distance, droning and melancholic._

_“Do you really want to discuss him right now?” Jaskier asked, pouting as he dragged his touch over her stomach._

_The faraway look in her eyes cleared. There was no music._

_“Do you have something else you wish to discuss, Jaskier?”_ _She was teasing him again, smiling against his mouth as he pressed his lips to hers in a sweet kiss._

_He pressed her back into the pillows. “I’m weak, my love, and I’m wanting.”_

_She began to hum, something light but almost a bit sad, her green eyes closed and her hands in Jaskier’s hair, as he set to work adoring her body. “Want no more,” she said, slightly breathless. “I’m yours, Jaskier.”_

_She was his._

* * *

Jaskier was whistling the tune he’d caught Elspeth humming in his last dream. He was quite fond of that line he’d uttered to her. “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting,” would make a lovely lyric. He strummed a few chords on his lute and pictured the way sunlight shone in her hair. They had arrived in Lindenvale, and once the archgriffon was dealt with, he told Geralt, he’d crank out a few more lyrics and serenade her—

“She’s not _real_ , Jaskier,” Geralt growled. The witcher slammed his pint on the table to punctuate his point, drawing a few eyes from the other tavern patrons.

Jaskier blinked as if coming out of a trance. “What?”

“You’re just dreaming, the girl isn’t real, now will you _shut up_ about her?”

“W-Well, what’s truly _real_ these days—”

“She’s a figment of your imagination, you’re not in love, she’s not real, now get your _fucking head out of the clouds_ before I leave you behind in this town!”

Jaskier let his jaw drop and spluttered a few times before stammering out, “I can’t believe _you_ would say something like that, Geralt! Just because you’re sore that you blew it with Yennefer—”

Geralt’s lip curled in a dangerous, angry scowl.

“—you of all people know what kind of magic exists in the world, how can you say there’s not even the remotest possibility my sweet is real—”

“If she is,” came a lilting, feminine voice, “she’s going to kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate any kudos or comments! Thanks so much for reading!


	3. Signed and Sealed

Jaskier felt his mouth curl in disgust. “Yennefer,” he said in a short, clipped greeting.

“Jaskier.” The witch’s eyes fell to Geralt briefly. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”

“Oh, is that right?” Jaskier questioned through a strained grin. “I’m quite surprised to see _you_ , I thought we were called here for an archgriffon, not a snake.”

“I’ve missed your wit, Jaskier.” Yennefer bared her teeth in a facsimile of a smile. “I’ll be sure to mention it in your eulogy. 

“Eavesdropping, were you?” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier noticed he didn’t question why the woman was here. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn Geralt had sent for her. She did always seem to show up, no matter which town they visited. He didn’t trust the woman, not with the way she had Geralt wrapped around her little finger. He was normally such a sensible man until Yennefer got involved, and Jaskier wouldn’t be a good friend if he didn’t try to steer the witcher away—toward any direction but _her_.

Geralt gestured for the woman to take a seat.

“Oh no, Geralt, don’t invite her to—” Jaskier sighed as Yennefer swept the hem of her tight black dress and settled into the chair beside Geralt. “Well, this was certainly a lovely reunion, I’m sure you two have much to catch up on, so if you don’t mind—”

“Have you no sense of self-preservation?” Yennefer questioned with a raised eyebrow. “This is about _you_ , after all.”

Jaskier frowned. “Why would it be about me?”

“You’re not even curious why I said your dream girl will kill you if she’s real?”

“I assumed you were about to regale me with some kind of warning tale on the dangers of love,” Jaskier said dryly. “Forgive me if I don’t take relationship advice from you of all people, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” Yennefer repeated, scowling. “Indeed then, it seems he’s doing plenty fine on his own, Geralt, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“You _did_ summon her here!” Jaskier accused, pointing at his friend. “How did you manage it? I didn’t see you write a single letter—or are you two fools telepathic now?”

“I didn’t send for her, but I noticed she was here last night. While you were busy with another of your dreams.” Geralt spoke sourly into his pint, taking a hefty swallow.

“I’ve been tracking a Celaeno harpy for the last week,” said Yennefer, her unsettling amethyst eyes focused on Jaskier. “And wonder of wonders it seems to have latched onto you, dear bard.”

“Celaeno harpy?” Jaskier shot a disbelieving glance at his witcher.

“They harness dreams and seal them in crystals, particularly dreams with strong emotions attached.” Yennefer was still gazing levelly at him. “Usually they prefer nightmares.”

“Nightmares.” Jaskier scoffed. “I haven’t been having _nightmares_.”

“Celaeno harpies usually stick to the mountains near the Aedirnian border,” Yennefer went on, unbothered by his interruption. “This one seems to have followed its prey all the way from Vergen.”

“We haven’t even _been_ to Vergen,” Jaskier grumbled. “And why would you track one anyway? What do you need with it?”

“The dreams they seal in crystal are quite powerful magical sources. Some stronger than others, depending on the dream.”

“So you think,” and here he looked to Geralt, “that my Elspeth is nothing more than a trick by a harpy?”

Yennefer’s nose wrinkled. “You _named_ her?”

“ _She_ named herself—Elspeth _is_ her name—Why am I even having this discussion with you?” he demanded angrily. “You said it yourself, these harpies tend to go for nightmares—”

“Nightmares are most common,” Geralt said lowly, “because they are most often recurring. The more a dream occurs, the stronger the emotions attached to it. A harpy...would explain the frequency of this same dream, Jaskier.”

Jaskier suddenly felt so, so tired. Of course even his own dreams weren’t his own. Of course the beautiful creature he’d been fantasizing about was really a monster.

“Harpies themselves aren’t usually dangerous to the one whose dreams they’re harvesting, but it is unusual that this one’s alone and seems to have followed you such a great distance.” Yennefer crossed her arms. “It makes you a target to anyone who can sense magic. If you ask nicely, I’ll help rid you of the harpy.”

“In exchange for?” Jaskier rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. He wished Elspeth were here to massage the tension from his neck—

“In exchange for the dreams it’s been hoarding, of course.” She said it so matter-of-factly that he almost didn’t realize what she was saying. “Despite their...subject matter, they’ll be quite useful.”

Jaskier’s face burned hot with embarrassment. “T-Those are private—!”

“Relax, Jaskier, I’m not going to watch them.” Yennefer rolled her eyes. Geralt, by this point, had polished off his pint and was waving for the bartender to bring him another ale. “Besides, the _monster’s_ real, but the girl isn’t. They’re just dreams.”

There was a dull ache in his chest when Yennefer stated this as fact, a strange sense of loss. “Alright. What’s the plan?”

* * *

“Just go to sleep as usual. Try to have your regular dream.”

_The large four-post bed. The fireplace crackled softly._

Yennefer flinched. “You’ll have to...push the intensity of the dream. The harpy won’t show itself unless it’s coming out to collect. You’ll have to make it worth its while.”

_Elspeth’s golden hair, light as feather wisps on his shoulder as she dozed in his arms._

“When it comes, Geralt and I will trap it. Simple.”

_“Jaskier?” Elspeth stirred at his side. “Is something wrong?”_

_“You ever feel like you’re in the right place?” he asked. “Like everything will be alright if you just...stay where you are?”_

_“Are you feeling restless in your travels with the witcher?” she said, teasing. She stroked his face with the back of her hand._

_He said nothing, kissing her instead. She was confused, hesitant, but she accepted him, and he made love to her with a desperation that frightened him. If only this were real. If only something in his life could be this easy, be this right. It made sense she didn’t exist_ — _he had concocted something that made him feel like he belonged, like he was wanted. Needed. He had never had that certainty in his life, never been that desired beyond a few quick trysts, and the_ _sureness_ _he felt in her arms_ — _of course it wasn’t real. He should have known from the beginning that a feeling like this, it couldn’t be real._

_Not for him._

_“I love you,” he breathed in her ear, and when he pulled back to gaze at her beautiful face, he was shocked to see she was crying._

_“Jaskier, there’s something I have to tell you_ — _”_

“That’s it. That’s all we needed.”

Jaskier’s eyes opened to the darkness of their rented inn room, but instead of stale wood and beer, there was a putrid stench of guano and rotten flesh that invaded his nostrils. He sat up quickly on the bed, covering his mouth and nose with his hand. “ _What_ is—”

He gasped. At the foot of the bed, in a mess of chains and loose feathers, was a hideous bird-like creature. It shrieked at him, high and shrill, and Jaskier gagged.

“Is that it?” he asked. Yennefer was hovering in a corner of the room, hands encircling something small and glowing. Geralt was near the door, the harpy’s chains wrapped around his wrist. He yanked down on them, hard, and the harpy crashed into the wooden floor, its shriek dissolving into a pitched whine.

“How was it?” Yennefer asked atonally. “Your last visit with your dream woman?”

Jaskier frowned, wracking his memory. Tears, soft lips like rose petals—everything else was blurring away. He could easily recall the previous night’s dream, and the night before that, so why…

“I...can’t remember,” he said, a numb feeling settling in his stomach. “Why can’t I remember?”

Yennefer revealed the glowing item in her hand, a small pink crystal pulsing with energy, reflections flitting across its surface. A pair of green eyes flashed across one of the crystal’s facets and realization hit him.

“That’s it?” he asked, pointing. “That’s my dream?”

Yennefer nodded. “When harpies harvest the dream, the victim loses memory of it. Good for nightmares, but…” For a brief moment, she looked almost apologetic. “Its magic is strong. You...This must have been quite the good dream.”

Geralt yanked the chains again, and the harpy let out a low hiss of pain.

“Speak, creature,” Geralt ordered.

Jaskier sat up further, edging closer to the creature. “I thought harpies were just beasts?” He craned his head, hoping to get a glance of the eyes, unsure of what he’d find.

“Unlike their counterparts, Celaeno harpies have a modicum of intelligence,” Geralt muttered. “Maybe it doesn’t quite have the ability to speak yet, but it understands.”

“Try asking it small questions,” said Yennefer. “You’re good at those, aren’t you, Jaskier?”

Back to the jabs, he thought, rolling his eyes. He squared off against the creature, a quick rush of relief when its eyes were a dark brown. He didn’t quite understand why. Had he really been afraid this monster would share similarities with his Elspeth? “Why me?”

The creature flexed its bound wings, the silver chains making its flesh smoke, and cocked its head at him.

“Yes or no questions, Jaskier.” Geralt pulled the chains in his grip tighter and the harpy shrieked again.

“Oh, uh…” He searched for a question.

“How very productive,” Yennefer muttered from the corner. She was still holding the crystal, his dream. He resisted the urge to reach out for it. 

“Did you target Jaskier?” Geralt asked, taking charge.

The creature didn’t do anything for a moment, but Geralt clinked the chains in his hands and the harpy hurriedly nodded its large, disfigured head.

“You left your nest and your flock to pursue him,” Geralt said. The harpy’s feathers bristled. “Did something tell you to target him?”

The harpy chirped like a wounded bird, a low croon.

“Someone targeted me? Why?” Jaskier’s gaze slid to Yennefer unbidden, and the witch frowned at him.

“It wasn’t me, _bard_ ,” she hissed.

The harpy began to struggle again, the force pulling Geralt forward before he planted his feet.

“Kill it, quickly, Geralt,” Yennefer shouted, her magic wavering the air around her fingertips.

“Wait!” Jaskier met its eyes and steeled himself. “Are you...Are you Elspeth?”

For a moment he didn’t breathe as the harpy considered him. Then its shoulders began to shake in a strange mocking copy of human laughter, it shook its head ‘no’ and smiled in a wide, unnatural way, and then it screamed as it broke free from the chains and bolted through the open window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, it's not over...everything is not as it seems!


	4. Listen

Jaskier ushered the other two out of his room not long after that, needing time to himself to process what he was feeling. He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. In the morning, he and Geralt would have to start figuring out who would be sending a Celaeno harpy after him. Until then, he pushed himself to try and remember this last dream, his last dream with Elspeth, but all he could remember was tears. He wondered if he’d made her cry, and that thought sent a spike through his heart.

“Oh well,” he murmured. “I suppose she wasn’t real anyway. No use worrying about it.”

Maybe Geralt was right, perhaps he did fall in love too easily.

Over the next few weeks, images of her began to fade. The harpy didn’t resurface and the dreams stopped, so Geralt considered the case open but low priority in regards to who might have sent it. Yennefer had left with his crystalized dream—after a pit stop in Geralt’s bed, which the both of them thought somehow Jaskier hadn’t noticed—when she realized the harpy wasn’t coming back.

Things had resumed as normal, traveling around in search of monsters to fight and coins to obtain and new lyrics to write. He still felt a bit hollow sometimes, but the pain was lessening. He was starting to appreciate beauties around him again. After all, she’d just been a dream.

They stopped in a little town for the night on the way to kill a basilisk. They were short on coin, so Jaskier offered his services as a bard to the tavern owner in exchange for the room. He sang his newest piece, a song on love and destruction, and halfway through met the eyes of the serving girl. She was watching him with held breath and an awed sort of look on her face; he smiled, threw her a wink, and her comely face colored immediately.

As he made his way back to the table, Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “Guess it wasn’t love,” he said.

“What?” The serving girl was still staring at him, blushing and fidgeting. “What are you talking about, Geralt?”

“You’re over your dream girl already.” He tilted his head in the direction of the girl.

Jaskier took offense to that, scowling deeply and throwing back a gulp of shitty ale. It’s true the girl looked nothing like Elspeth—she was dark haired and tan, her eyes brown and a little bland. Her features were pleasing enough, and he imagined her body beneath the slightly tattered clothes to be shapely enough. He ignored Geralt’s rolling eyes when the girl shuffled back to their table to refill his drink, and when the girl reached for his cup he caught her hand and kissed it. After that, she almost ran to his room.

How would he finish this, he wondered. He could go with the classic lovestruck poet to make her swoon, ease her into his bed and coax her with sweet nothings—the idea made him almost nauseous for some reason, so when she tentatively shut the door to his room, he pounced on her. Furious and passionate it would be.

When he kissed her, pressing her body back against the door, she tasted...familiar. He chased that familiarity, forcing his tongue into her mouth and groaning. She pulled at his shirt, hands soft and tentative—he ripped hers over her head to get at the body underneath, palming her breasts roughly. She matched his ferocity, kissing him back with a fervor as her hands roamed across his chest. He spun her around, practically throwing her onto the bed. She shimmied out of her pants as he tossed his own clothes to the floor and then he was back on top of her, desperate to feel the warmth of her skin and taste the honey of her mouth. For just the briefest of moments, her eyes seemed to flash green.

A trick of the light, nothing more.

He shook the daze from his head and latched onto her neck with his teeth, peppering her with marks. She groaned earnestly, arching up into him, brushing across his hardness.

“ _Oh_ ,” she gasped. She started to babble as he laved attention on her nipples—he covered her mouth with his hand and she groaned again. He just wanted her to stop talking, it was ruining it, but she didn’t seem to mind. She licked a stripe on his palm.

He wasted no time—once his exploring fingers found she was ready for him, he was inside her. He hurtled towards his orgasm, desperate for the distraction, relishing the way her nails scraped down his back. Her moans were muffled against his hand and he pressed kisses to the column of her throat. Certain she was done talking, he removed his hand and placed it on the bed next to her head, flexing his fingers. Nearly there, he thought, he was nearly—

“ _J_ _askier_.”

He hadn’t given the serving girl his name, and that voice didn’t sound like hers. It wasn’t the high, girlish voice that had giggled at his cheesy lines or stumbled over an agreement to his suggestion of his room; this voice was more melodic, more sad, slightly older. It sounded like—

Her body shimmered, like a mirage, and again her eyes were green. “My Jaskier,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his jaw, and with a heady groan he came.

For a moment he hovered above her, just trying to catch his breath. “Elspeth.” He pressed his forehead to hers, trembling slightly. “Is this real?”

“The White Wolf is going to kill me, Jaskier.” 

Her fingertips trailed along his face, to his lips, to his chin, and then fell away. He closed his eyes, his mind swimming, and caught her hand and kissed each digit. He sighed in contentment without it truly sinking in what she’d said.

“Elspeth,” he breathed again. He’d address what she said later—Geralt certainly wasn’t going to kill her, she was talking nonsense—but right now, _right now he just wanted to_ —

“Who’s Elspeth?”

Jaskier’s eyes flew open. The girl lay under him, her eyes brown—brown, _brown,_ they were _always_ brown, they’d never been anything but _brown_ —and shining with hurt. Oops.

He scrambled to find something to say, some platitude to reassure her, even as she gathered up her clothes and fled the room. His usual gift with words escaped him and all he could do was watch her rush out. He ran a hand through his hair. This was pathetic, truly, she wasn’t _real_ , she wasn’t…

_Tears._

_Soft lips._

_Whispering something to him, something important, something secret._

_If only he could remember…_

“You’re not listening, Jaskier.” Her voice again, pinched with impatience, as clear and loud as if she were standing next to him.

“You’re not _real_!” he shouted to the empty room. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “You’re not here. I’m just seeing things, hearing things.”

Jaskier threw himself onto the bed and blew out the candle on the bedside table. He just needed some sleep, that’s all. Everything would be back to normal in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all the comments I'm getting on this! It's so interesting to see everyone's reactions and theories. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, can't wait to see what you all think!


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